


Virtues Uncounted

by kaientai



Series: Small Death and the Codeine Scene [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mutual Pining, fun adults having fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaientai/pseuds/kaientai
Summary: A fox is but a wolf that gives you flowers.
Relationships: Suna Rintarou/Reader
Series: Small Death and the Codeine Scene [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598479
Comments: 3
Kudos: 146
Collections: HAIKYUU|HQ





	Virtues Uncounted

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: five times suna watches you get it on with some guy that isn't him, and the one time he finally does something about it
> 
> +
> 
> This is an AU where Suna works at a bar, and all the Haikyuu hotties just happen to be hanging around the same area. Cus reasons :3 Also heads up: this was proofread once and never again. Such is the fate of self-indulgent pieces :')

**01.**

Ever since he started working at the pub right across from his apartment, Suna has accustomed himself to the idea that he _will_ meet all kinds of people—intoxicated ones, for the most part. He doesn’t mind. After all, he’s spent a chunk of his high school years fine-tuning his patience to accommodate a certain pair of mischievous twins. Dealing with even more unpleasant people while keeping his cool should be right up his alley. 

At least, that’s what he _assumed_. 

“Do you think I’m hopeless?”

Suna sighs, pouring you another round as if you haven’t had enough. That was definitely the fourth time you asked him the same question, but the thing about being a bartender is that entertaining repetitive inquiries was the first thing on his job description. 

“If you put your back into it, you might get lucky.”

You thank him for the fix before halving the glass before his eyes—slamming it back down with more force than necessary. For a woman, you sure don’t drink like one. 

“You think so?” The small smile that tugs on your lips makes him feel a little sorry for you. He’s never seen someone so desperate to get laid, and it’s actually giving him secondhand embarrassment. You dolled yourself up and dressed the part, even. So, going against his better judgement, he fans the dying flames of your self-esteem—as all barkeeps with even a shred of conscience should. 

“Sure,” he offers. “All you have to do is walk up to someone and talk to them.” 

You grimace, and he only notices how pink your lips are then. “Talk to them, huh…”

As if fate has finally heeded your prayers, your saving grace took the form of two men heading to the counter with the strut of some pompous regulars. 

Which they _are_.

“‘Sup, Suna?” Atsumu hasn’t lost the razor sharp edge of his smile that sets Suna off just a tiny bit despite high school being years behind them. He isn’t sure if he likes that. “I think your lady friend here needs a Paradiso.”

Osamu elbows him in the ribs. “Quit bein’ a creep, you idiot. We’ll take the usual.”

Suna nods, ringing them up for their favorite cocktail on the menu, but his ash brown eyes don’t miss the way you shrink away from the twins in your stool. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t speak—squeezing more lime into Atsumu’s daiquiri just the way he likes it. 

When he finally slides their orders on the countertop, though, the blond bastard is nowhere in sight. Instead, he sees Osamu perched on the barstool right next to yours, telling you something that’s drowned by the music. Whatever it was, it must have been pretty funny. It’s the first time he’s seen you laugh like that tonight. 

Relief bubbles in his chest for the strangest reasons. The first is that he’d rather not deal with customers with withered self-confidence any longer, and the second… 

“Suna.”

He looks up from his phone and meets Osamu’s eyes. “What?” 

At that moment, Suna catches the way his silver-haired friend coiled a strong arm around your half-dozing form. Your face is dusted with the colors of intoxication that he knows all too well, and—there you have it. The two daiquiris he served are emptied down to the stem, and Suna is _pretty_ sure it isn’t Atsumu that finished the other one. 

“Just put her bill on ‘Tsumu’s tab,” Osamu says, gently hoisting you off your seat as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders. “And if that idiot comes back here, tell ‘im to take a cab home.” 

Suna slides his phone in his back pocket, reaching for the empty martini glasses with a knowing look. “Got any idea where _you’re_ going home tonight?”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Taking advantage of drunk girls ain’t my style. I’m just makin’ sure she gets back safely.” 

And Suna never really questioned that. “Yeah, whatever.” 

When Osamu helps you wobble back to the entrance, he tries not to stare. He really does, and he finds it a bit odd, since he never had to actively _try_ before. The barkeep often just lets his patrons leave without much mind, but with you, he can’t help but sneak a few swift glances as he wipes the rings of moisture off the countertop. 

He knows better than to think your eyes met when you’re in such an inebriated state, but it costs him nothing to pretend.

**02.**

“One Paradiso for the lovely fiancée?”

The celebrant’s face flushes red as she accepts the cocktail from the owner’s hands. Her friends in the VIP room cheer and holler beside her, gushing over the iridescent petals of the lotus sitting afloat on her drink. She takes a small sip and grins. 

“Isn’t this the bar’s ‘declaration of love’ drink, Motoya-san?” the woman muses. 

Komori spares her a gentle smile. “Mmm...think of it as a bouquet. They can be given on any special occasion, yes? I’m just congratulating you for your wedding soon, Kanae-san.” 

Her cheeks swell with a darker tinge, and from where he stands by the door, Suna rolls his eyes. Komori is easily the kindest person he’s met in his life, but the owner can be an unintentional charmer sometimes. Suna is starting to fear for the woman’s engagement—convinced that she’d leave her fiancé at the drop of a hat all for sweet, thoughtful Komori Motoya. 

“You’re getting pretty good with the mixes,” Komori comments when they make it back to the main bar. “Kanae-san seemed to like it.”

 _Or she likes_ you. Suna considers if he should say that to his face but decides against it last minute. Instead he tells him, “Learned from the best.” 

The owner laughs at his nonchalance before taking orders from the patrons crowding around the bar. Suna takes it as his queue to get to work, as well.

“Oi, Suna,” his co-worker, Washio, calls out while he’s in the middle of making a cocktail from the shakers. “Some chick was looking for you a while ago.”

He frowns, not having the slightest idea who Washio could be talking about. “Is she still here?” 

In lieu of an answer, he pushes a tray holding two empty glasses and a bottle of champagne fresh from the fridge his way—nodding off to the crowd. Washio’s vagueness perplexes him even further, but when Suna scans the present company (it’s quite busy tonight, actually), he finds it a bit funny how quickly he spots _you_ in the sea of drunken patrons. 

You’re preoccupied in conversation with someone Suna can’t quite see through the crowd, but he notes the little black dress that hugs your frame a little too well—shimmering in the dim lights despite the distance that separates you. He sighs. It’s been a few weeks since he watched Osamu take you home, and…let’s just say he didn’t expect you to come back at all. What are you even doing here now? A girls’ night out just like the ones in the VIP room, maybe?

As he makes his way to your table, Suna realizes that he never really got your name the first time. And he tells himself that it’s purely out of curiosity that he sneaks a glance at the receipt Washio handed to him before he left… 

Only to find a black cat scribbled on the signatory.

When he finally gets close enough, he confirms that _no_ , you aren’t on a girls’ night out. In fact, another familiar face is sharing the table with you—a lit cigarette dangling from his lips with amber eyes on the prowl. Kuroo Tetsurou is a known regular around these parts, and he’s one of the more popular patrons in Komori’s bar. Suna has lost count of all the times he’s managed to woo unsuspecting girls into going home with him, and the barkeep doesn’t quite like the thought of you being his next nightly tryst. 

“Oh, hey newbie,” Kuroo greets him with a Cheshire cat smile. “Ah, nah. I can’t call you that anymore. Is that our order?” 

Suna nods, a little self-conscious when he feels your eyes on him. His gaze swept past your face for only a moment, but he knows he’ll be stunned into silence if he dares to look again. From his peripheral, he can see you parting your lips as if to say something, but Suna hastily tucks the tray beneath his arm once he places your order on the tabletop. 

“I hope you enjoy your evening.” 

Washio asks him about you when he returns to the counter, but Suna dodges all his questions for the rest of the night. There are orders to fill, drinks to make, and rowdy patrons to deal with. The last thing he has to think about is how pretty your lips looked like dabbed with cherry red lipstick. 

Suna comes to regret that level headedness ~~very much~~ when the crowd begins to thin, and he notices that you and Kuroo are long gone—leaving him wondering what if _he’d_ been in his place instead.

**03.**

You’ve become quite the regular presence around the bar in the next few months, and Suna is running out of excuses to keep avoiding you. _Especially_ when you always home in on _him_ in particular. 

“Do you hate my guts or something?” 

You posit the question on one rainy night. Business is slow today, and only a few regulars idle inside, given that a storm warning was announced earlier in the day. He isn’t even sure why Komori decided to open up shop, but here he is—getting cornered by the same person he’s been steadily evading for the last few weeks. 

“No,” Suna says, feigning nonchalance. “I just don’t feel the need to involve myself with patrons any more than I have to.” 

You take a full swig from your beer bottle before pouting at him. “You’re mean, Rintarou-san.” 

Suna stiffens momentarily at the way you addressed him, but remembers that he has a goddamned nametag pinned to his dress shirt. He pinches the bridge of his nose before giving you a pointed look. 

“Why do you keep bothering me anyways?” he asks, cutting straight to his point. “Do you need something or—”

“I just wanted to _thank_ you, asshole.” 

You all but mumbled the words against the mouth of your bottle before downing the rest of its contents in one fell swoop. He’s seen you around enough to know whether or not you’re already drunk, and—from the absence of your usual intoxicated blush—you’re very much still sober. But, instead of provoking you even further, he eases the tension in his posture before sighing a bit dramatically. 

“For what?” 

You huff. “If you hadn’t hitched me with your friend back then, I never would have gathered the courage to…mingle. I guess.”

“What are you saying? I barely did anything.” And that was true. All Suna did was give you and Osamu a few moments alone, and the next thing he knew, you were drunkenly clinging to his friend’s toned frame like a koala. That’s something that hardly merits your gratitude. 

“Well, in my book you _did_.” You pulled your lips into a taut line. “Just take my damn thanks.”

Rolling his eyes, Suna bent down to retrieve another beer from the fridge, placing it right in front of you. “Fine. You’re welcome…?” 

“Right. I never really introduced myself, have I?” 

You tell him your name, and Suna thinks he won’t be able to forget it even if he tries. It has just the right ring to it that he won’t mind calling out for orders, but when he catches himself imagining such a scenario, the door to the bar opens again—sending a sharp breeze whipping into the room as the storm rages outside. The newcomer, who’s been scarcely salvaged by a flimsy umbrella, shakes the droplets from his brown hair before slicking it back with one hand. Suna grimaces. How can someone so haggard still look so good? Pretty boy sighs, looking around for a few moments until his eyes land on the counter—A.K.A., your favorite seat in the house. 

“Oh. That’s my ride,” you tell Suna, grabbing your unopened beer as you slide your payment across the counter. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” he asks half-jokingly.

When pretty boy makes it to the counter, he doesn't even acknowledge Suna when he snakes his arms around your waist from behind—nuzzling his face in the nape of your neck. The barkeep wrinkles his nose in distaste. 

“Something like that,” you say, grinning back at him before pressing your lips to your ‘boyfriend’s’ cheek. “You ready to go, Tooru?” 

“Yeah,” this Tooru person says, his chestnut eyes flickering in Suna’s direction. 

For the split second that their gazes met, Suna is a hundred percent positive that Tooru saw right through him. He doesn’t miss a beat either—ash brown eyes trained on the way the other man tugs you closer to his lithe frame. In the past year he’s spent working for Komori, he’s seen men like him enough times to know when to steer clear of them. After all, he’s just a humble employee trying to do his job.

But…why does Suna feel just a bit annoyed when it comes to pretty boy over here?

He never arrives at an answer that evening. During his lapse in concentration, you already left the bar hand-in-hand with your lover—with nothing but the rhythm of the rain to keep him company on such a lonely, lonely night.

**04.**

“She’s so hot.”

Suna stares blankly at the bleached blond patron with one arm propped up against the counter. He’s one of those rowdier types that only drops by the bar to pick up girls, but not often enough for Suna to give a name to his face. 

“She gets that a lot,” the barkeep says, keeping his hands busy by polishing an already clean champagne flute. 

Blondie raises an eyebrow. “You know her?” 

Suna shrugs. “One of our regulars.” 

He nods, somewhat convinced before downing what’s left of his honey-gold drink. Suna doesn't remember if he poured him bourbon or scotch, nor does he care. All that matters is that his shift is about to end half an hour, and he’ll be free to crash on his bed and sleep in the following—

“Hey.”

The soft electro-pop streaming through the speakers sounds muted in Suna’s ears when his eyes land on you—a rosy blush painting your cheeks red. You just got back from the washroom, and he isn’t sure if it’s just your makeup or if you’ve finally had too much to drink. For a moment, he thinks you’re talking to him, but then blondie turns around to greet you. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” he says, raking his eyes across you. “Still lookin’ like an absolute snack, aren’t you?” 

You give him a wobbly smile before patting him on the shoulder. “Your friend’s looking for you out front, by the way. Said he saw someone fuck up your bike.” 

Any semblance of smugness on blondie’s face falls at the mention of his beloved motorcycle being trashed. As he practically bolts out of his seat and directs himself to the entrance, that’s when Suna decides you can _definitely_ do better than this guy. He tells you this when you slide back into your seat with a knowing smile. 

“Thanks,” you say, drumming manicured fingers across the counter. “He doesn’t look like it, but Yuuji’s a catch. Sort of.”

“What happened to the other guy? Uh, Tooru?” 

You snort. “We just fooled around for a while, but never mind him. You want a drink?” 

He cocks his head slightly. “What?” 

Rolling your eyes, you snatch the laminated menu from his side of the counter, leaning close enough for Suna to smell the fruity perfume that clings to your clothes. He steels his expression, not wanting you to catch him staring before you settle back to your stool—curious eyes peering across the fine print. 

“Komori told me something the last time I was here,” you tell him without lifting your gaze. “If there’s such a thing called the language of flowers, then on his turf, he has the language of liquor.” 

“Yes, I know that. I _work_ here,” Suna deadpans, not catching your drift. “Are you saying—”

“I wanna buy you a drink, yeah.” You giggle, sliding the menu back before folding your arms across your chest. “Fix yourself up a Red Death for me, will you, Rintarou-san?” 

Red Death. If Suna’s memory serves him right, Komori listed that off as the bar’s forbidden drink. It’s a cocktail of liquor that he thinks should never be mixed in the same glass—just like how certain elements mustn't collide. He’s already made a name for himself as one of Komori’s top apprentices, but even Suna doesn’t want to deal with that devil’s craft the owner himself concocted.

But…one thing that he’s slowly realized the more time you spent in the bar is that he finds it _really_ hard to say no to you. 

“Alright,” Suna acquiesces, and he tells his stuttering heart to shut up when your eyes light up with glee. “I’m charging you double for trying to intoxicate me on the job, though.” 

“Be my guest, then.” 

Despite his occupation, Suna avoids ingesting alcohol as much as he can because his actions under the influence only give him problems the next day. Proven and tested. Those same results are manifesting yet again when he’s finally got one-fourths left of the nightmare drink in front of him, and his mind is beginning to swim. 

He starts to hope this night ends with him walking you back to your apartment, or (best case scenario) you agree to come over to his own. No, he isn’t going to do anything to you like all those men you always went home with. He just—he just wants to share his bed with you. Yeah. No nakedness involved. Just two drunk adults, buried under a mountain of blankets as he falls asleep to the sound of your steady breathing against his—

“Suna.” 

A pained groan grates against his throat—raw and scratchy with an acrid taste lingering in his mouth. Suna wrenches his eyes open, squinting at the lights with a frown. He can slightly make out Komori’s oddly shaped eyebrows in his inebriated vision, and the barkeep makes another helpless noise when he struggles to remember what happened. 

“Red Death isn’t supposed to be consumed alone, you know,” the owner sighs, and Suna feels him drape something across his back. He isn’t sure. His face is still pressed against the countertop. “Well, I don’t blame you. It doesn’t get ordered a lot, so you probably _don’t_ know.” 

There’s a reply resting on the tip of his tongue, but Suna’s eyelids are weighing down again. Not wanting to pass out in the bar, he braces his palms across the counter and lifts his head—slapping his cheeks a few times to wake himself up. 

He groggily looks around for the wall clock that Washio hung by the entrance, and the digital numbers blink back at him mockingly. It’s fifteen minutes to three A.M.—two hours since his shift was supposed to end. Great.

“…someone but can’t tell them up front.”

Suna blinks out the spots in his eyes, affixing his gaze on his boss. “What did you say?” 

Komori laughs but the sound is muted in his ears. “I _said_ buying a Red Death means that you like someone but can’t tell them up front. Like an indirect confession, if you think about it. If they accept your feelings, then you can drink it with them.”

Carding clammy fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, Suna lowers his gaze to the empty martini glass sitting in front of him. There’s still some pinkish residue leftover—the crimson red of the cocktail watered down by the ice. The gears begin to turn in his head. 

“Where is she?” he rasps, shooting up from the barstool he has no idea how he ended up sitting in. The thin blanket that Komori placed over his shoulders falls to the floor, and his boss only offers him an uneasy smile.

“She left with the blond guy that’s been hitting on her all night when you passed out. Told me to take care of you, actually,” the owner tells him.

“...Fuck.” 

Komori nods, crouching down to pick his blanket off the ground. “ _Fuck_ , indeed. You totally blew it. Pretty sure she’s had her eye on you for a while now, too.”

“What the hell makes you say that?” Suna wonders incredulously. 

Instead of the well thought-out explanation that he expects his boss to have, though, Komori all but places a hand on Suna’s head—ruffling his hair as if he was a child.

“Gut feeling,” the owner says with a smile.

An idea pops inside Suna’s head at the last second—one that includes some mild violence and the loss of _all_ the feeling in Komori’s gut. But before he an even act on it—

“Oh, what the hell, Suna?!” Komori groans, cringing at the sight of his employee retching his guts all over the polished floor. “Dammit. Washio? You still there? Help me out here, ugh! So gross…”

**05.**

**Osamu [10:40 P.M.]:** if tsumu shows up there today lmk

 **Osamu [10:46 P.M.]:** p sure he n his pals are tripping on acid. that aint gonna be a pretty sight

Frowning at the messages Osamu sent, Suna slides his phone back into his pocket—opting not to think much of it. He hasn’t seen the twins around for a good while, so the chances of Atsumu dropping by are probably near to none. 

Now that he thinks about it, there’s another regular that’s yet to set foot in the bar again.

It was relatively quiet for the past few weeks. Well, not really. It’s more like Suna wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings much compared to the time _that_ person frequented the establishment. He doesn’t really get why either, but the apathy he has for his job is no stranger to him at all. If anything, the barkeep almost feels like he’s opening his arms to an old friend by the name of lonesome. 

Tonight is like any other night. Komori entrusted him and Washio to look after the place while he visited his cousin in the hospital. Something about a mild injury, he said, but Suna didn’t really bother with the specifics. He was dead-set on finishing his shift without any hassles, and as the last hour ticked past, that goal slowly unravelled before his eyes. 

That’s until _you_ came. 

You’re not wearing any of your suggestive outfits tonight, but he thinks that you still look pretty even in a hoodie and sweats all the same. How long has it been since you bought him that Red Death again? Suna hasn’t really been counting the days but the numbers seem to crunch in his head the moment his gaze landed on you. It’s pathetic, actually. Cue the chorus of angels singing hallelujah in the background. Why the _hell_ does he feel so…so happy to see you? 

But his (in-denial) glee only lasts for a second when you slide into one of the tables near the entrance instead of your designated place by the counter. Shoulders squared, you begin tapping away on your phone—not even sparing a single glance in Suna’s direction. 

He clicks his tongue somewhat irritatedly before finally paying attention to the man trying to order something from him. Suna gives him a half-hearted nod, reminding himself that his shift is about to end and he doesn’t have to deal with these troublesome feelings much longer. 

Although, as fate may have it, he feels someone nudging his leg beside him. Suna shoots Washio a glare, but his co-worker only gives him _the look_ in return. 

“Don’t chicken out _now_ ,” he says, handing him a martini glass with nothing but a lotus flower inside. “If you do, you’re treating me for a whole month.” 

“In what realm is that even fair?” 

“Not a single one. That’s why you’re going to fess up because if I have to listen to Komori complain about ‘his ship not sailing’, I’m taking it out on _you_.” 

Suna’s aggression doesn’t falter, but he timidly takes the glass anyway. Washio smirks.

Komori’s Paradiso is the most sought-after drink in the bar—the complete opposite of Red Death. Not only does the owner capitalize on his patrons’ fickle feelings by brandishing a meaning for it, but Suna can objectively say it’s one of those cocktails that one can actually _enjoy_ drinking. Apricot brandy, gin, orange juice, and an edible lotus flower—he even has the formula jotted down in his head.

He once asked Komori about its namesake, and his curious boss said in reply:

“Have you ever read The Odyssey, Suna? When Odysseus’ crewmen ate the flowers in the Land of the Lotus Eaters, they didn’t want to return to their homeland anymore. I kind of want my lovebird patrons to feel that way about the bar, too, you know? It’s a drink that’ll keep them coming back to _paradise_.”

Of course, Suna didn’t buy a single word he said—given Komori’s tendency to make a business out of anything. Yet, despite his prior adamance, Suna is making that same drink that’s lulled their patrons into a false sense of romance hundreds of times over. 

The lotus drifts across the drink’s glittering amber surface, looking as fresh as sin. His mouth twitches into a lopsided smile. 

When he looks up to find you in the crowd, though, you’re gone. Suna questions Washio about it, and he tells him he spotted you on the way to the washroom with Atsumu in tow—

“Come again?” Suna interrupts, his stomach dropping like an anvil. 

Washio notes the edge in his voice. “Yeah. He came in just a few minutes ago with some guys from—oi. Suna! Where are you going?” 

Suna’s heart pounds hard in his chest as he wades through the throng of patrons dancing all around him. He even thinks he might have stepped on someone’s foot but he couldn’t afford to look back and apologize. The dim neon lights that lead to the washroom glow almost menacingly in his eyes, despite their purpose to set the mood. And in the far end of the long hallway he sees you—stunned into place as his blond friend corners you in the darkness.

The scarce lighting makes the others passing by oblivious to the compromising position in which Atsumu held you in, but Suna has worked in this damn bar long enough to know when something’s amiss. He doesn’t think. He just lets his body take the reins. 

When he pulls Atsumu away from you by his shoulder, the blond is quick to snap into his reflexes and hurls a blind punch somewhere to his right. That was enough to confirm his suspicions. Suna knows, for one, that this idiot’s punches are as precise as his service aces. The barkeep has seen his share of bar fights to last a lifetime, and he can say Atsumu is no stranger to them. For him to miss at point blank range only means that something is up. 

“What the _fuck’s_ wrong with you?” Suna hisses, fist coiling tight around Atsumu’s shirt as he slams him against the wall.

Atsumu only smiles and Suna doesn’t miss the way his eyes seem to zone in and out of focus. “Saw a pretty lady and thought she’d like a kiss from good ol’e me.” 

Without surrendering his iron-clad grip, the barkeep turns his head your way. To his relief, you look like you’ve recovered from the prior shock, but the fear in your eyes still lingers. He swallows thickly. 

“Ain’t she just a beauty?” Atsumu groans, throwing his head back with a sigh. “Can’t believe ‘Samu got his grubby hands on ‘er and _I_ didn’t. Don’t ya agree, Su—”

He never gets to finish the thought because once Suna’s fist collides with his jaw, Atsumu slumps against his grip in record time. Suna’s blood burns hot in his veins—letting his friend collapse to the floor before he gets a taste for adrenaline-induced violence. God, he hopes Osamu forgives him for this.

“Rintarou-san…” 

The ire in his gaze goes up in smoke the moment your voice reaches his ears. Suna heaves a breath in relief as he paces towards you, standing at a respectable distance while surveying you for any injuries. You’re so covered up that he isn’t quite sure, but you seem relatively unharmed. 

“Your hand,” you murmur, reaching out with the gentlest of touches. 

For a minute, he’s surprised with how soft your hands are when you cradle his own, but Suna then realizes that the skin on his knuckles is split open. The bleeding isn’t too bad, but…wow. Why didn’t he feel a thing? 

What he _does_ feel, however, is the featherlight brush of your lips against those split knuckles, and the heat that settles deep in his chest. He wonders why he feels so deeply for someone he doesn’t even know that well, but Suna is well aware that he’s had _enough_ of stolen glances and missed opportunities. 

“How’d you even know I was in trouble?” 

He barely hears your question—too entranced with the way your eyes shine even in the darkness. Suna ends up saying the first thing that pops into his head.

“Gut feeling, I guess.”

**01.**

“Rintarou-san, wake up.” 

Suna’s groan is muffled against the sheets, but he lifts his face up with a sleepy smile nonetheless. He isn’t exactly sure why he’s waking up in such a good mood, but he can’t be bothered to ponder on it too much. Blinking out the bleariness from his eyes, he yawns. Then, the colors of the bedroom finally coalesce into something his mind can process.

You’re standing in front of his bed with nothing but one of his old t-shirts on. Oh. 

“Good morning,” you tell him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard, dipping down to kiss his nose. “Did you sleep well?” 

He stifles another yawn, lazily tugging you back to bed. “Kinda. What about you?” 

“Mmm… Slept like the dead. Your mattress is comfy as hell.” 

“Thanks.” 

As the two of you spend the first few minutes of his morning in small talk, Suna raises one hand in the air—staring at the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. His gaze then drifts to you, fitted in the curve of his elbow like a matching piece of his bedroom’s puzzle. He can’t help but grin. 

“Rintarou…?” 

Suna knows you’re pouting even without looking when he gets up from the bed and promptly leaves the room. You make a soft noise in protest, but it dies in your throat when he comes back again—fingers curled around the stem of a plastic daisy. 

“It’s no Paradiso but…” he trails off, offering you the fake flower with a sleazy grin. “Can _this_ be my declaration of love?” 

Your surprise morphs into amusement as you pluck it from his fingers, even sniffing the petals to play along. “In love with me already? You’re so easy, Rintarou-san.”

In spite of yourself, you pull him back to the bed and Suna is all too happy to climb over you with a dangerous glint in his ash brown eyes. 

“If only I went out with you first, maybe things would have turned out different,” you sigh when he latches his lips over the thrum of your pulse. Suna laughs darkly, grazing your jaw with his teeth until his mouth was right next to your ear.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson last night?” he murmurs, one hand sneaking down to the apex of your thighs. “I’m not the saint you think I am.” 

You giggle, lacing your fingers behind his neck as you mold your lips in a tongue-filled kiss. When Suna pulls away, he presses his forehead against yours as you flash him a honey sweet grin. 

“Just how I like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Haikyuu s4 part 2 airs tomorrowwww~~ and I'm just in time to drop something Inarizaki-related after sleeping on them for months :| 
> 
> Anyway, you can hit me up on [tumblr](http://hirugamis.tumblr.com) or support me on [ko-fi](http://ko-fi.com/kaientai) if you liked this fic! I'm kind of inactive as of late though, online university and all. But I can always spare some time for whore activities <3


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